Mictlantecuhtli

I

Here I start to sing;

Flowers blooming in my heart

In the form of a grand song.

It is the breath of life

Into the cries of the dead

Who say “thanks” to you.

Now, attend the story of the Lord of the Mictlán.

To him belongs my soul, and yours,

And the Nine Rivers of the Underworld.

Dark haired, like the night sky,

Sprinkled with stars, scattered around

By the bats and the spiders and the owls.

Trust me, for I have seen him.

I died in my sleep, nothing honorable about that.

Neither Tláloc nor Tonatiuh would want me, I knew.

This unworthy death sent me straight to His abode.

Down I went.

Step by step, calm,

Serene, silent, tranquil,

For I knew I was going down

Through the path they told me to.

It kept getting darker every second.

I should’ve paid attention to the owl hooting.

He always falls head first, like the sun. Tzontémoc.

This is our final home; where we don’t exist. Fleshless beings.

II

Çan nompeua ye nican o in nicuicanitl huiya

Noyollo ytech

In cueponi xochitl y

Yectloc cuicatl y

Yca yan noconehcapehuian

Ypalnemoa ohuaya.

I could hear them all crying for my long-gone soul;

My Xolo had his sight set on his only quest.

We crossed the river, we survived the mountains.

The obsidian mount could’ve cut us in half.

The frozen wind did cut us in matching halves.

There were flags, arrows, and the beast that’d eat our hearts.

Sharp rocks sliced our feet open,

Until we disappeared in the last realm.

They gave me water, paper, fabric;

They burned down my clothes,

My jade heart beat with the coldness of a lifeless rock,

But the beast fell for the shiny, green bait

And let us be

In a place where no one is;

They let us be,

Even though we could never be again.

III

Quetzalcoátl came down here once,

Alone, some time ago.

Mother told me about it,

Because her mother told her about it too.

The gods gave us life.

The gods sent a flood.

Humans turned to fish,

And as fish they perished.

The world needed new humans,

Quetzalcoátl retrieved the bones of our late ancestors.

Mictlantecuhtli is a trickster; the snake knew.

Their agreement was deeply flawed,

For the conch had no holes.

“Four times you have to pace”, easy enough.

“Four times, just see how nice this conch sounds.”

But the conch had no holes,

Of that, the worms and the bees took care.

 Powers of wind and life

He carries the conch around like an award.

He took the bones,

But the Lord had changed his mind.

“No”, instead of “yes”;

The snake became a thief,

There’s no stealing of what was always yours.

The Death’s servants dug up a hole,

Foolish quail, who would’ve thought the snake’d be afraid of you?

The bones scattered,

The quail went to nibble them,

But Quetzálcoatl survived the fall,

Although the bones weren’t so lucky.

Therefore

I’m 5’5

And you’re 6’1”

Or so they say.

In Tamoanchan we were reborn.

Bone-flour in the pot,

And gods’ blood.

For this, we say tlazohcamati miyac.

IV

This is my final home; where I don’t exist. Fleshless being.

He keeps falling head first, like the sun. Tzontémoc.

I can pay attention to the owl hooting now.

It keeps getting brighter every second.

Through the path they told me to

I went back to them for once,

Hopeful, quiet, calm,

Tranquil, serene,

Up I went.

I knew what to expect, and at the very back

Of what used to be our living room in the family house

My own reflection stared back at me.

Here I shall lie forever.

Flowers growing from my grave

In the form of life renewed.

It is our last breath

Into the laughs of the ones we leave behind

And I say “thanks” to them now.

You heard the story of the Lord of the Mictlán.

To him belongs your soul, and mine,

And the Nine Rivers of the Underworld.

Hair dark like the night sky,

Stars hang from it by their necks,

As the ones who are not allowed in.

You’ll see him, and I won’t need your trust.